A/N: Written for jiokra for fandom_stocking. Comments and concrit always welcome.

Alibi Me

"I need an alibi," Isaac stated as he dropped into the seat at the cafeteria table across from Scott. He glanced furtively from side to side, then, having apparently decided that no one was going to attack him here, leaned forward and planted his chin on his hand. The lines of tension in his body bespoke of the seriousness of his request.

Scott licked a smudge of sauce off his lips and saw Isaac's pupils widen. Lowering his fork, he slowly finished chewing the food in his mouth, trying not to use his tongue more than necessary until he could answer without talking with his mouth full. The table was empty save for him and Isaac, Stiles having gone back to the a la carte line to get another serving of nachos and all the other students having already left since lunch was only a few minutes from being over. Isaac must have been waiting for this moment, Scott thought, given how quickly he had appeared. "What for?" Scott asked, a weariness infusing the question. Isaac being in trouble again had only been a matter of time, and, frankly, it was long overdue.

"This isn't the place to get into it," Isaac responded, with another dart of his eyes around the room indicating all the ears that could be listening in. So, werewolf business.

Scott felt his shoulders slump; under the table he shuffled his feet, as if the effort would erase a problem he really didn't want to deal with and, yet, couldn't avoid. "What did you do? Please tell me I'm not going to be charged as an accomplice." Visions of trying to cover up an accidental—he hoped it was accidental—mauling flitted through his head, followed closely with memories of being on the wrong end of Sheriff Stilinski's wrath.

"It's nothing like that," Isaac promised, as if able to guess where Scott's thoughts had gone. "Just…You're the only one I can ask." With that, he pushed up from the table and vanished into the crowd. Seconds later, the bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Scott was left behind, shaking his head and trying not to envision the possible scenarios that could have led to such a request.

"It's my foster parents," Isaac said. His voice drifted over Scott's shoulder during Psych, his breath brushing against the back of Scott's neck and sending tiny shivers down his spine. "They don't trust me."

"Any reason they should?" Scott answered. He didn't bother to turn around. Isaac would be able to hear him just fine. He spread his hands flat on the desk in front of him and pretended to pay attention to what the teacher was scribbling on the board. The handout given to everyone in class sat with its notes already filled in. All the students were expected to do was listen, but clearly Isaac had already grown bored with that. Scott wasn't far behind, and each breath of warm air on his neck was making it even harder to pretend.

"Look, it's nothing against them. They're trying to do the parenting thing. They want to know where I'm going after school and who I'm hanging out with. They want me in the house at night. I've got a curfew, and everything."

"Yeah?" Scott asked, the demands sounding pretty reasonable. While his mother tried to impose similar restrictions on him, her schedule meant that more often than not, the thought was what counted. Lately, though, she'd been making up for her laxness with frequent texts, which both pleased him and chafed a little, so maybe he did understand where Isaac was coming from.

"They want to know things I can't tell them, which means I'm practically grounded. No going out, no training-"

The teacher turned around before Isaac could finish, not that Scott needed to hear the words ifull moon/i to see where the rant was headed, or to guess why an alibi would be needed. At the teacher's attention, Isaac sat up in his seat and pasted a blank expression on like he was just another complete innocent, bored student—or so Scott guessed from the slight scrape of the seat's metal feet against the floor and the long sigh that breezed down his spine.

"Why not ask Erica or Boyd?" Scott asked, as he joined the crowd of classmates fighting to be the first to get out of the room.

"I did," Isaac replied. His shoulder bumped Scott's in the crush. A second later, Scott's hand darted out to rest on Isaac's arm and steady them both when another student bumped into them from behind. Once they were clear of the doorway and the worst of the logjam, Isaac explained, "Erica said they'd think she was my girlfriend." He snorted softly at the suggestion. All Isaac would ever be with Erica was pack; she'd made that clear. "If they thought I was dating her, I could kiss off staying out all night."

Scott nodded at the truth of that. The foster parents didn't know Isaac well enough to understand how wrong their assumption would be, which was mostly the problem to begin with. Erica probably wouldn't do much to discourage any wrong impressions they got, either. She'd think they were amusing. "What about Boyd?"

Not until Isaac was fiddling with the lock on his locker, did he duck his head and answer, "He said no."

Figured. Boyd was willing to put his life on the line for his packmates, but when it came to how the teens' parents were treated, he had firm limits. "So, you want me to, what?" Scott asked. "Come over after school?"

"Yeah. My foster parents can meet you. They'll like you. Parents always like you. Then, when they ask where I'm going, I'll tell them I'm hanging out with you." Isaac gave a lopsided shrug at that, as if to apologize for dragging Scott into a bad situation. What else was I supposed to do?, the gesture seemed to say.

"Let me guess? Derek doesn't pass muster?" Scott responded dryly.

Isaac rolled his eyes. "Didn't even try. There's no way they'd be cool with me hanging out with a… How old is he, anyway?"

Scott groaned in sympathy at the thought of Isaac introducing Derek to guardians who already didn't trust him. Isaac would be lucky if they let him leave the house at all after that. "So now you're asking me," he concluded.

Isaac tucked his books in his locker and slammed the door shut. His hands free, he stepped up next to Scott and drew to his full height. The few inches he had on Scott seemed to be a lot more when he bothered to use them. For a second, Isaac's lips twisted into a curl of danger. "Unless you don't want me to learn how to control what I can do?"

Scott held his ground, his fingers clenching around his books rather than into fists. Being asked to help was one thing; being guilted into it was another, and he wondered why Isaac thought the threat was even necessary. Though the two weren't exactly friends, they were teammates and allies, and Isaac knew as well as anyone that Scott would be the most willing of the werewolves to step in and help; he just wasn't inclined to do it without understanding why.

For the first time that day, he really looked at Isaac. His curls had been trimmed and gelled in a mostly vain attempt to tame them. Despite the wear of the day, his shirt and jeans smelled new and had the crisp look of clothes that hadn't yet gone through the wash. His sneakers were also new and still glossy white. It was kind of a good look for him, and the preppiness completely undermined the effect Isaac was going for. He also looked nervous, maybe a little scared—which suddenly made sense as Scott realized that Isaac was dealing with new parents and new relationships and the constant risk of being sent back into the system where he could get placed someplace worse, all while having to lie to everyone in authority about everything. And, was it possible, that Isaac wasn't looking for an alibi so much an ally?

Tipping his head to the side, Scott met Isaac's eyes. "They're not going to believe it if I show up once and then they never see me again. They'll probably expect you to try something just like that."

The muscles around Isaac's mouth and in his neck tightened, his heart thumped even faster, as he waited for Scott's verdict. "So...?"

Scott forced his grip to relax before he shredded his books, and continued to hold Isaac's gaze. "I have to work until 7:00. I can come over for a little while after that. Maybe come back on Saturday?"

With a sigh, Isaac collapsed back into his usual slouch and dropped his gaze to the side. Whatever standoff they were having, Scott had won—and all without a single flicker of gold between them. "You'd do that?"

Scott raked his fingers through his brown hair as he tried to think of a response that wouldn't complicate things even more. "Sure," he said. Then, keeping his tone as casual as he could, he added, "That's what friends do."

The grin that took over Isaac's face sent a twist of warmth through Scott's stomach. For this kind of werewolf business, he thought, he didn't mind being an accomplice.

END